Archive for March 28th, 2011

Knock, knock

Who’s there?


Adolf who?

Adolph ball hit me in de mowf. Dat’s why I dawk dis way


I cracked this joke to Dad recently. He didn’t find it funny. What’s more, he refused to laugh at it because it gave him a funny pain in his jaw. Plus, he threatened to sue me if I caused any more grievous damage to him.

(Naah, he didn’t.)

(It was Mom.)

The reason?

A couple of weeks back, Dad was happily ambling along the golf-course fairway, craning his neck to check if  his well teed-off shot could fetch him another hole-in-one or not. He couldn’t see his ball, but what he did see, he could have never anticipated in his wildest of dreams!!

A misplaced shot by an amateur golfer sent a fast paced golf ball right at his face.

Dad turned in time to prevent his head, but his jaw fell victim to the brutal assault.

Painful, I agree.

We asked Dad if he sued that bugger, but then Dad being Dad AND a true-blue golfer, said that Gentlemen playing golf don’t do that. They walk up to the offender and offer sympathies for the wrongly aimed shot. They then proceed to lecture the amateur on the technicalities of that most important tee off and then offer to conduct free of cost coaching for the next 3 months, at the convenience of the offender.

Thats how Gentlemen play golf, I’m told.

Thank you, but no thanks.

If I find a dimpled thingy hurtling at me, I’d run for the nearest cover. And in case I get hit, then I know what to do with that 3-Wood in my golf-bag !!

Anyhow, in case you are wondering how dad is, well, he’s recovering. Luckily, no bones were cracked or teeth torn out of their roots (that comes from years of existing as an Army man, I guess. Can’t see the BF encountering the same fate and returning with his complete set of dentures 😐 . No, I don’t think that would happen. And what would, is too ugly to  contemplate)

I like sporting injuries. They are like trophies. You display them with a hint of pride and loads of lovely memories. They are reminders of the time when you were quick like a fox and nimble like the fish. The days when you didn’t have an ounce of extra fat on you, when the sun’s rays were just that – sunrays. They weren’t cancer causing ultraviolet radiations out to kill you! I have a sporting injury. A crooked right ankle, thanks to an obscenely obese 13-year old toppling herself on me in a do-or-die kabaddi match. For the record, I did and almost died (that bag of lard fell on me, geddit? She was squeezing the life juice out of me lungs!!) I survived to tell the tale. It’s another thing that for years afterwards, I couldn’t run without suffering the severest muscle-pull around the ankle. For years, I steadily piled on the weight until I started resembling that bag-of-lard myself. Except that I have better sense and refrain from Kabaddi. Of course.

Bro has his share of tennis elbow injuries. Bags suffered from her swimming cramps (they are deadly, I tell you!!) . The BF had his wrists knocked out in Volleyball. And Aapa, though a non-sporty person now, was quite a basketball champ in her hey-days (in Tambaram High School, West Tambaram, Tamil Nadu). Whatever the case, I think its vital that we clung on to the sports even though we were knocked out black n blue. The most Mom would do would be to hand over a jar of iodex or bandage a severely scraped knee. Thats it. We were back in the field.

Come to think of it, don’t we pamper our kids a tad too much?? I mean, I scream like a banshee when my kid topples off the bed and lands on the floor (like Lui did this morning), all arm-waving, chest beating picture of motherhood gone crazy. Somehow, I just can’t picture my mother in the same mold.

Good for her, I say. Ooops, correction. Good for me. Else I would have turned into a namby-pamby good-for-nothing still striving for my mother’s apron strings!

But I’m not.

(A namby-pamby, that is. I confess I still strive for mumma’s apron strings though 😦 )

 But the point is, I’m kind of tough. Years of being in sports does that to you. Of course I don’t have a steel jaw like Dad or sinewy arms like Bro or  mile -wide shoulders like the BF (aaarghh!! that would’ve looked awful), but I’m tough. I can take a injury and still smile through it. I have a strong resistance to pain (except for that one time I got my eye-brows done and swore never to touch them again 😐 ) and am proud to say I’m one tough cookie.

So if a golf ball comes carting my way, I’ll survive. I may lose a couple of the pearlies, but I’ll back to post about it. Maybe , even add a knock-knock joke of my own.

Hopefully, Dad would find it funny then 🙂



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